So Close
by aBlackBird
Summary: Carol's done teasing and being coy. She wants Daryl, she knows he cares about her but won't make the first move, and so she decides to take the VERY direct approach.. [asexuality]


Carol had always been a patient woman, before the world had gone to hell. Too patient, probably. She waited for Prince Charming, and ended up with Ed. She waited for Ed to change, but it was only for the worse. She waited for Sophia to be old enough to understand that they had to leave her father, but by then it seemed impossible, and they had no place to go. She waited for the chaos and death that overtook them all so suddenly to die down, for order to be restored, but that just never happened. She waited for Sophia to come back out of the woods, and instead, she came out of the barn.

The world had changed, and Carol had to change with it. Patience was for people who had time to waste, she decided, and they didn't.

Carol tried to keep quiet as she made her way up into the guard tower, but the stairs were metal, and even in bare feet every step rang around her. He'd probably seen her coming, anyway. Her sweating hands slipped on the rails, and she blotted them on her pants as she climbed. Not nerves, not exactly. Anticipation.

Daryl was waiting for her, just like she expected. He stood half in and half out of the door to the walkway, crossbow slung over one shoulder. A frown creased his brow as she got to the top.

"Something wrong?"

"No." If she was a bit breathless, she could blame it on the climb. "Everything's fine."

He nodded, but the frown didn't fade. "What's going on?"

It would be so easy to tell him they were going to do some laundry the next morning, if he had any, or ask if he was hungry, but she didn't. Instead, she took him by the arm and pulled him carefully inside. When the door closed behind him, she stepped close and put both hands on his shoulders. He stiffened at the touch, but didn't pull away, and she accepted that for the victory it was, at least.

When she rose on tiptoe to kiss him, the sharp intake of his breath didn't deter her. It was warm and dry and almost chaste. She had kissed him chastely before, but that wasn't what she wanted here. Instead, she pressed closer, letting her lips fall apart just enough to taste his.

He made some aborted sound, and his hands rose to touch her elbows. She thought for a moment that he was going to push her away. When they stayed there, just touching, she moved back enough to look carefully into his eyes.

She understood the surprise there, and she could cope with the wariness. Sliding her hands up to cradle the back of his head, she pulled him down to meet her for the next kiss. Briefer than the first, but warmer. A question.

Daryl's head jerked faintly in a nod, eyes half-closed, and his hands floated down to rest tentatively along her ribs. He was shaking a little.

Carol gave him room to take control of the next kiss, but when he didn't, she pressed in. After a moment more of hesitation, he met her halfway. After that, it was just the salty/sweet taste of him, the feel of his rough hands through her blouse, the smell of oil and wood smoke, the rasp of his breath.

She tugged him to the floor, and he followed her down. His crossbow knocked against her side. Both of them fumbled it off his shoulder and away. Even as she pulled him in for another kiss, he held himself carefully above her. She arched her body up to meet his, coaxing him closer. When his weight finally settled, heaviest across her hips, a familiar bolt of heat leapt through her.

She remembered this. Hands and mouths and the warmth of another person's breath on her face. The weight of a man on top of her. It had been a long time, but her hands found their way inside the layers of his jacket and his shirt easily enough. She knew exactly how to tilt her head so his lips would find the side of her throat. Her hips rolled up on their own, relishing the dig of his belt buckle into her belly, the solidness of his thigh between hers.

Once, she might have lingered there, enjoying the build-up, teasing and being teased. But she had wasted enough time.

Carol's hands scrabbled at the button and zipper of her pants, bumping awkwardly between them. When Daryl rose up to his knees, she felt a vague pang at the loss. Then his hands covered hers, taking over. His blunt nails dragged against the tops of her thighs as he tugged the pants down. She lifted her hips and they were gone, pulled away.

Replaced with his hands. Rough with calluses, but careful, and slow. They started at her ankles and trailed upward. Curving around her calves, sweeping up behind her knees. He was watching her, head down and hair in his eyes, but watching. Still wary, even as she fell open beneath him.

He bent his head then to press a kiss to the flat plane of her belly, and Carol let her eyes close. The stubble on his chin was coarse, but he soothed the scratch of it away a swipe of his tongue, only to repeat the process in a new spot. She shivered, reaching for him, tangling fingers in his hair.

He came up to her, mouth meeting hers, sloppier and messier than before. Their teeth clacked together, tongues meeting, each breathing in what was left of the other's breath. His hand rested still on her thigh, thumb just brushing the edge of her faded yellow panties. It was easy to reach down and catch his wrist, to guide that hand.

She wouldn't have cared if he'd fumbled, if his rough fingers had pressed too hard or in the wrong spot. But they didn't. He touched her like he already knew how, like he'd always known. She gasped when his fingers slid inside her panties, stroking into her.

She opened her eyes and found him still watching her. Watching her like she was a gun that might be loaded, a dog that might bite. She supposed she was.

He kissed her again, almost as if he didn't know what else to do. Holding him there with an arm around his shoulders, she reached between them to find his belt buckle. He jerked, rhythm faltering.

"Don't stop," she whispered against his lips. "Please, god, Daryl. Don't stop."

Belt, button, zipper. No underwear, because of course not. She wanted to feel him in her hand, to see his expression when she did to him what he was doing to her.

Instead, he froze.

So did she.

Daryl wasn't hard.

She was burning, a tight knot of need throbbing low in her belly, wet against his fingers. But he was still soft.

He pulled away then, carefully, and she let him go. Let him sit up and turn his back to her. A long moment passed. Too long. She pressed both hands to her bare stomach and looked up at the ceiling, trying to slow her breathing.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, voice little more than a harsh rasp.

"It's okay."

"It's not. I'm sorry."

She made herself sit up. He was close enough that she could lean on his shoulder. He hunched away from her, head hanging.

"Daryl…"

"I just don't…don't work that way. It ain't you. You know I…I would. I just can't."

"Oh." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Oh."

He stood then, suddenly, and she had to catch herself before tipping over onto the floor. With his back to her, he straightened his clothes and re-buckled his belt. He just stood there for a second, then scooped up his crossbow and went to the door.

"I'm sorry."

Daryl stopped, peering at her over his shoulder. "You ain't got no reason to be."

"No?" Carol curled her toes against the cool concrete and tried to ignore the ache low in her belly. So close. "Then you don't either."

With a snort of derision, he pushed out the door.

Carol knew she could let it go at that. She could get dressed and go back into the cellblock. She could check on Lori and climb into her bunk. She could pretend this had never happened. Daryl would probably prefer it that way.

Instead, she stepped back into her pants and followed him outside.

He was making a slow circuit of the walkway, but she waited by the door for him to come back around. He stopped a few feet away, not looking at her.

When it seemed like the silence had stretched on far enough, she asked, "Has it always been-"

"We don't gotta talk about this."

Some men would be angry. Shamed, really, but anger was easier. Carol knew that well enough. Instead, Daryl just sounded sad. She didn't like it, and she wasn't going to pretend it wasn't a little her fault.

"Well, it doesn't seem like we've got anything else to do." He glared at her from the corner of his eye, but she shrugged. "Really, Daryl. It's all right."

His expression told her that he didn't agree, but he didn't walk away from her again. That was something, at least. Progress.

"It really ain't you," Daryl said finally. He darted a glance at her, chewing on his lower lip. "If I coulda…with anybody, I think it woulda been you."

"Did you ever see doctor about it? Before?"

He shook his head. She imagined he must be blushing, and glad for the dark. "Nothing wrong with my equipment. Works just fine when it wants to. I just don't…get those feelings."

"Never? Good looking man like you, must have had girls all over."

Daryl rubbed his cheek with the back of one hand, as though he could scrub the compliment away. "Not that many. Anyway, didn't make no difference."

A thought occurred to her. A dangerous thought. She spoke it carefully. "What about men?"

Daryl's answer was another glare.

"Nothing wrong with it," she said quickly. "No matter what Merle might have told you."

"Yeah, well, don't matter, because nothing ever happened with no man, either."

"Hm." A thought occurred to her. As hard as he tried to hide them, she'd seen the scars. She knew the kind of life he'd had as a child. "Do you think…did something bad happen to you? When you were little?"

"A lot of bad somethings happened to me." Daryl's shoulder rose and fell in half a shrug. "A few bad someones, too. But I wasn't ever molested or anything, if that's what you mean. At least, not that I can remember."

"Is there a lot you don't remember?" Carol asked.

"Some. Probably better off. But I don't think that's got anything to do with it. I'm just wired wrong, or something."

Wired wrong. Weren't they all, in their own way. Folding her arms on the railing, she looked out into the night. She heard him shift, the scuff of his boots on the concrete. When his hand touched her shoulder, she didn't lean into it. She waited.

"I really am sorry. I shoulda said something, but you…" Daryl's voice was soft. "I've been waiting for you. Thought it might be different. When I knew it wasn't gonna be, I just thought it could still be good…you know, for you."

Carol laughed a little, saying, "Oh, it was. You're good with your hands."

He squeezed her shoulder a little, and she felt him move closer up behind her. "There was this girl in high school. She wasn't my girlfriend, really, but she hung around. Told her I didn't want to get her pregnant. She didn't seem to mind. Showed me a few things."

"Lucky girl."

Daryl's breath brushed across the back of her neck, and Carol shivered. "I could still…if you wanted."

Leaning back against him, Carol closed her eyes, and smiled. Someday she might take him up on that offer. If they had a someday.


End file.
